Skyrim Adventures & stuff
by Stockiebasher97
Summary: I only own the Dremora and the old man, oh and the poor guy that dies... he got what want was coming to him. Rated M for potential adult situations later on. Credit to Gamespot for Kevin, Cam and Seb, MMOxReview for Alexstrasza and Ysera. Also to the mod developers for Jesica Alba and Inigo.


Windstad Manor. One time, a long time ago, this mighty hall was the residence of the Last Dragonborn. Sadly after his passing due to old age, the building was left in his will to an old friend of his, the Daedric Champion, Jaden Akrenar, a Breton, who in his many years in Skyrim had come to respect, if not agree with, the misunderstood Nords. But like all things time was his enemy, time was all it took before he killed the wrong person seeking wealth, women and reputation, the wrong man just trying to forge a legacy for himself, by severing the bonds which the Champion's own was being held up by. Three wives dead in fifty years. Ysolda, Elisif, Sapphire, all fetching young women, all with exquisite personalities to boot, but years had withered him from luscious brown locks to grey hair, shriveled him from a proud strong Sabre Cat to a sickly weak old dog.

He sat in the darkness, age could not kill him, so he sat waiting for an inevitability that was never to happen. A loyal dremora lady waltzed down the stairs in the pitch dark, always in black and red robes. The odd daedroth sat opposite him, before saying. " Still moping at having eternity and not one friend to live it with. Despite your aptitude for dodging death, this isn't a good path to tread."

"I'm not moping, I'm weeping and wondering what might have been, had I never become the Dark Champion everyone wants dead. Could you do that? Tell me what path I chose not to walk." He said, in a coarse, old voice.

" You know I can't, old friend. But I have one thing I must confess to you." She said, with strain. She would have continued, had the old man not lowered his hood and his soulless, black eyes flickered in the newly present torchlight. "Your feelings towards me have always been obvious to me. I value your company, and your friendship, but no more loss, I don't think this decaying old dragon's heart could take it." he said, bluntly. She looked down for a moment, before sneaking a look at the Daedric Armor for which he was famed. She looked at the deep midnight blue bolts, pulsating all over the daedra powered metal and the tattered, ripped deep ebony cape, adorning it. Then silence, as a hand fell upon the door four times, a gentle knocking. The Dremora raised her daggers in a defensive position. He recognized the gilded eyes sparkling, full of life, despite her being older than him. " Melancholy is bad, even for ones such as ourselves. Though I feel you've learned this teaching before." Serana spoke, like a light in the darkness. Recognizable anywhere. " Melancholy has been what's kept me going for 200 seasons." said an old, now slighted voice "Melancholy will not bring them back" She said and was cut off. " I KNOW MELANCHOLY WON'T BRING THEM BACK!"The old hoarse man screamed at the equally antiquated vampiric woman. The Dremora, who'd stayed out of the conversation till this point, butted in. " Then honor them by returning to your old ways." She pleaded with him. He sat back down, huffing and wheezing. Waiting outside was some young mercenary who thought killing an old man would be easy pickings. He saw a charming young seductress leaving the dilapidated old ruin. He strode up to the door and it burst open with a wall of pure darkness following it. The fair haired Nord sword-for-hire didn't get up, a dark blade gouged through his neck. Two large cold, black metal boots crunched through the red stained snow and two slightly lighter boots, more adjusted to snow followed in their wake, the midnight colored ice adorning them refracting silver beams of moonlight from the twin moons, Masser and Secunda all around them. A tall, hulking brute of a man with long brown locks and black eyes trod through the pale snow, towards Whiterun.

A trio entered the Bannered Mare after a successful giant slaying. One young woman, obviously their leader by the arrogance and sureness in her strides over to a table, followed by two blondes, both women also. One had much brighter blonde hair than the other. Hulda was sure the firey redhead was called Alexxstrasza, or just Alex for short, an Imperial, by the way coin seemed to flow from her, new armor every week, either she was the most business smart woman in Skyrim, or she was a whore, either way so long as she paid, Hulda didn't pry or mind, she just sat down and ordered some mead, the torn white undershirt showing from her dark open top armor, remarkably similar to that of the Thieves Guild's. The shorter blonde was called Ysera, there was a good Nordic name, she looked like the new recruit, but was well outfitted just the same, with blood red armored robes and armored gauntlets that made her look like she could tear anybody in half, and the stone painted masque she'd just placed on the table, just made her look like wherever she went, trouble was never far behind. The third one, Jessica, whatever kind of name that was, was wearing just plain ancient nord armor, making her look respectable, deadly and elegant at the same time. At that moment a travelling group of arms for hire entered the Bannered Mare. The tall bulk of nord masculinity removed the bear head styled steel helmet from his bald head. One of the shorter ones called him Kevin before pulling down his dark grey hood, Saadia had spoken to him a few times, she called him Cameron, or Cam for short, he like Kevin was bare on the top of his head, but was considerably shrunken, too much so to believe they were brothers, they weren't but people believe baldness runs in families. The other small one, Sebastian, or Seb, removed his leather helmet, for his short fair, almost ginger, hair to lie on his little framed head. The fourth member was one that had been wanted a few months ago, a Khajiit, adorned with yellow war paints and tattoos, covered in purple fur. She struggled to pronounce his name, so she wouldn't try. No sooner had they all walked up to the bar when the door shot open and a large man in black and a smaller dremora lumbered ominously towards Kevin and his band of followers.


End file.
